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So, I gravitate towards the sound like a lizard might follow a hotspot on a rock. Reactive, instinctive, not thinking.
Very purposefully, not thinking.
When I hear Rachel telling someone to get out, I’m genuinely shocked. Rachel’s always cool, no matter how messed up someone is. Lucille’s standing there with eyes like daggers, but I can’t see who they are kicking out. One of the tough security girls is totally obscuring the view.
As they start to drag the troublemaker out, I follow. One foot falls after the other and again, I think of reaction rather than action. It’s not like I’m choosing this… The Helen I know wouldn’t go chasing after drama, no way. Not for any reason.
Here I am though. Striding along in the shadows, watching for a glimpse of the person being kicked out of the Cozy Nook. Is this because I specifically told myself, I couldn’t find a potential partner in there? Is this as far from my comfort zone as I’m ever going to get?
Good run, Helen. You made it to the door.
I’d be laughing it if wasn’t so true. Just a statement on my personality for the entirety of my whole life. Whenever I went on holiday, I rarely left the hotel grounds. It’s almost like I’m wearing one of those electric collars. If I don’t stay inside my safe zone, I’ll get zapped.
The security woman deposits her cargo on the sidewalk and turns back to go inside. She nods and smiles at me, so I smile back, but I don’t remember if I’ve met her before. She just keeps walking and then I realize I’m alone on the street with this very strange woman.
Even though it’s cold, she doesn’t attempt to get up. In fact, she rummages around in her backpack and then pushes it under herself to sit on. She pulls out a scrap of cigarette and tosses it away as it’s too small to light. She then burrows through her pockets until she finds some gum.
She’s completely self contained. Where I feel like I’m swimming in the world, constantly losing myself as I try to bend to its whim, she is solid and real. She doesn’t bend or blur her edges for anyone. The world makes way for her and if it doesn’t, she just forces her way through.
She doesn’t compromise. It’s obvious from her body language and her expression. I’ve never seen anything so inspiring in my whole life.
It’s also a bit creepy in its synchronicity. This could be exactly the woman I’m looking for. She’s a drifter, obviously. No roots. I can read the signs on her clothes and belongings that scream out her poverty and her flighty nature.
This could be the kind of girl who would pretend to be my wife for a nice sum of cash then disappear afterwards, leaving me with my magazine and my nice, uncomplicated life.
“Fuck them!” She mutters. “Fuck them all!”
I’m scared to introduce myself, let alone invite this woman into my life. Even as a simple business partnership, this is going to get messy. She’s the kind of person I’ve always avoided. The kind of person who might complicate my world.
I realize I’m taking quick, short breaths and it’s making me lightheaded. If I’m going to introduce myself at all, I need to be calm. If I’m going to propose a business transaction, I need to be clear on the terms.
I’m fucking terrified! I can feel myself losing my control and my calm. All the emotions of the day are charging through me and to my horror, I can feel my cheeks flaming and my palms getting sweaty.
I’m not being honest with myself again. I’m trying to tell myself about all the reasons why she’s a good choice for my little deception, but I’m ignoring the main reason.
I want to talk to her. I want to get to know her. In a way, I’m using my situation as an excuse for introducing myself.
Because even though she’s scary and unknown and really, really taboo, she’s incredibly hot.
Her very pale blonde hair is cut short and flares in spikes around her narrow, delicate face. She’s short and slender, looking as graceful as something made of crystal yet stronger than stone. I can see her delicate, curved lips and long lashes under the dim lights. She’s not even wearing any makeup.
Her legs are curved and graceful under her ripped tights and her small breasts bounce under the heavy jacket as she moves. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who would just walk down the street without a bra before.
My heart pounds in my chest and I can feel it in my throat, in my temples.
Just talk to her.
How can I?
How can I not?
I take a few steps forward, trying to get myself under control. I realize this is really stupid. I’m blowing the situation out of proportion. She’s just a girl with nowhere to go, not a goddamn panther loose on the street.
The longer I look at her, the more I feel sorry for her. She really does look lost, and kind of sad.
It makes me realize, I’m kind of sad too. Maybe I always have been. Maybe my calm exterior only exists to hide the real me from a world that can’t accept it.
Maybe, I’m just as lost as she is.
